Chase (ChronoShift Trilogy) (18 page)

Abbie entered the cottage and reemerged, carrying a small bundle.  The second Indian would have been upon her by now, except Mark had taken him out as soon as he'd spotted him.

Staccato bursts from a different kind of gun punctuated the air now.  They were the short claps of a modern weapon, which meant Hardy had entered the fray.  The dull thud of a body falling sounded from behind the house Mark was in.

Abbie ran now, racing away from the village toward the woods.  She left Mark's immediate line of sight and he was forced to trust Hardy to watch over her for the moment.  He left the protection of his hiding spot and took up her back trail, determined to keep any other attackers from taking advantage of her weakness.

By the time they reached the safety of the woods, Mark had eliminated several more threats.

Once they were under the cover of trees, Abbie hastily unwrapped the baby, checking for any injuries.  Hardy continued to rain down fire upon the village, saving a settler here and there.

The baby cooed.  Abbie breathed a deep sigh of relief and finally allowed an answering smile to peek through.

The battle below was ending now.  The settlers had lost.  The three of them watched as the Wampanoag closed in on one of the remaining garrison houses, bodies strewn about its perimeter.

A woman emerged from within and descended the steps, her eyes sweeping across the destroyed forms of her loved ones.

"That's Mary Richardson," Abbie whispered.

A Wampanoag warrior was taking aim at her with his long gun.  Hardy sighted down on the warrior and fired an instant before the Indian did.  Hardy's bullet slammed into his wrist, deflecting his shot enough it only hit the woman in the side.  She stumbled, and Abbie screamed, but it soon became clear that Hardy's shot had saved her from any serious injury.

The Wampanoag chief waved off his warriors, effectively ending the attack.  The Indians began gathering up the surviving villagers to carry off as captives, shooting those who were too severely wounded to travel.

"It's just so...hard to believe," Abbie breathed, awestruck.

"Yet, there it is," Mark said.

***

The three of them held vigil over the dreadful scene.  All the survivors from the garrison houses had long since fled to the next closest settlement seeking safety, reinforcements, and vengeance.  The Wampanoag went south with their captives.  The day was drawing to an end.

What remained was a picture of emptiness, a devastation dulled and dampened by a soft afternoon rain which had fallen.  Charred skeletal remains of homes raised their blackened, burnt fingers toward the sky, as if pleading.  The heavy odor of smoke had been the only sense of vitality remaining after the brutal attack, but the drizzle had now washed it away, leaving nothing but the smell of damp earth.

They'd exhausted themselves trying to bury the bodies, but there were just too many.  They'd eventually given up, knowing the villagers would return the next day with help, and they would bury the rest.

Abbie had been strong throughout the ordeal, but Mark saw a tear running down her face now, matching the lump he felt in his own throat.  What should have been a beautiful summer afternoon felt empty, wet, cold and dreary.

"What are you going to do now?"  Mark queried Abbie.

Hardy sat on a nearby stump, rolling some tobacco into a cigarette.  He wasn't a smoker by habit, but he'd found a stash that had survived the burning in a ruined home and was intrigued by how authentic colonial tobacco might taste.  He'd remained silent for most of the day, quietly observing Abbie and Mark.

"I don't know.  There's nothing for me here now," she said softly.

"You could come back to our time and help us."

She was surprised.

"It wouldn't be easy," he continued, "Our century would be completely foreign to you, but we'd be happy to have you.  We could always use another good shot on the team."  Mark didn't mention that in spite of his resistance, his heart was losing ground in its battle against falling in love with her.  A simple, but strong affection for her was growing within.  He wanted more time with her.

She turned her gaze back to the burnt village.

"I'll think about it," she whispered.

July 8
^th
2013, Boston, MA

He forewarned her as best he could, but no conceivable warning could have prepared Abbie for the shock she received when he brought her to the 21
^st
century.

He took it as slowly as possible.  Before going, he'd described a lot of the gadgets and modern inventions used in the daily life of the future to get her used to the idea of modern technology.  When they'd finally shifted, he'd made sure they did it in a place which was still forested in 2013. 

He moved her toward civilization slowly.  Her eyes grew wide as saucers when she first saw Mark's car.  Only the trust she had in Mark allowed her to get in the beastly thing.  The myriad of devices inside the vehicle were just as much of a shock, especially the radio.

Once she'd gotten used to the idea of electricity, emotional adjustment came much easier to each new piece of technology she encountered, but the speed and pace of modern life were still a shock.   Not to mention the blatant immorality she saw splashed everywhere she looked, from billboards, to hand-bills stapled on telephone poles, to the clothing choices of women on the sidewalks.

When Mark finally got her to headquarters, he showed her to her room on the third floor.  A room Savannah had helped him prepare for her arrival.  Abbie collapsed onto her new metal spring mattress and into a deep sleep, mentally exhausted.

***

"How'd it go Ty?"

"Saved a few, but I ran into another one I couldn't do anything about."

That one grieved Ty, clouding the joy he would have felt over the others.  He'd just gotten back from Vietnam again.  He'd run out of friends to save and had moved on to other marines in his battalion.  He was running into more and more instances of men he couldn't save, and that was bothering him.

"Shake it off, man.  Be happy for the ones who live now because you intervened.  You're doing a great thing."

"I know, but..."

"But, what?"

"There's something that's been gnawing on me.  I've got to kill a VC, if not several VC, in order to save one of ours."

"So what?"

"Is that right, morally, I mean?"

"You're a soldier, Ty.  We're Americans, and it's war.  What's different about you killing VC now and back before you knew about the shifters?"

"Nothing, I guess.  Just been thinking is all.  Those Vietnamese have families too."

"They're communists, man.  After the US pulls out there's widespread massacres all across Southeast Asia.  Those guys aren't angels."

Ty tumbled a penny between his large fingers.  He was listening, but still looked unconvinced.

"Should I have left you dead back in 1968? Should I have spared those VC who killed you?"  Mark pushed.

"No."

"Well?"

"I guess you're right."  Ty wanted to change the subject.  "So, tell me about this girl you brought home.  I hear she's a real beauty."

As if on cue, the door to Mark's dormitory opened.  Abbie hesitantly emerged.  She wore a white dress shirt and a pair of blue jeans Savannah had pulled from Mark's closet.  She looked fabulous.  Her skin was the color of pale cream, accentuated by burnished, auburn hair pulled back in a pony tail.  Unless she spoke, you couldn't tell her from a 21
^st
century woman.

"Mark..."

"Hey, Abbie.  Come on in.  I want you to meet a friend.  This is Ty.  He's a partner in the company."

Abbie curtseyed abruptly as Ty extended his hand.  He hastily withdrew it as soon as he realized she was not expecting the gesture.

Then, Hardy entered the conference room, bearing coffee, followed by Savannah who had several boxes of donuts in hand.

They were all going out of their way to make Abbie feel welcome, but the past 24 hours had clearly been a major shock to her system.  Modern day technology was inconceivable to the average 17
^th
century mind, and the fact that Abbie was coping at all was a testament to her metal fortitude.

"So, what's got you freaked out the most, Abbie?"  Ty grinned.

"Freaked out?"

"Um, what are the hardest things to adjust to?"

"Uh...cars, lights, airplanes, those tel...telo...telephones. Definitely the compu...tation instruments..."  She was naming things in the order she'd encountered them.

"Computers?"

"Yes, that's it, computers.  Everything to be truthful.  I don't understand how any of this is possible unless it's magic of some sort."

"It's electricity," Mark said.  "That's what makes all this technology possible."

"I don't really understand electricity."

She looked demure, insecure in her new environment.  Until now, Mark had only seen her in states of supreme confidence.  This new meekness endeared her to him even more.

Savannah opened one of the boxes of donuts and offered Abbie one.  She bit down and her eyes grew wide.  She wanted to say something but couldn't bear speaking with her mouth full.  She hastily chewed, a funny expression on her face until she finished.

"My goodness, that is sweet," she scrunched her eyes in distaste.  "I've never had anything that sweet."

They all laughed.

"I'll explain electricity to you, Abbie, along with a lot of other things you need to know," Savannah offered, ever the considerate one.

"She'll fill you in on all the history since 1675 too," Mark added, "She's our resident expert on that subject.  We'd be sunk without her."

Savannah blushed at the compliment.  "I'd be glad to," she said.

Abbie smiled at her gratefully.  Mark hoped she wasn't having second thoughts.  He'd known it would be difficult for her, but the reality of just how difficult, even he hadn't really understood.

Hardy piped up, "I'd have figured the way people dressed would have bothered you."

She nodded.  "A little.  It's quite odd to see women wearing pants.  I mean, I always wore leggings in the woods, but it is unusual to see so many women dressed that way."

"Don't you think the young ladies show too much skin?"  Hardy, the cheerful antagonist, asked.

"That didn't shock me as much as pants.  I went to London once with father.  There were ladies there who dressed like that, though they were usually looking...for clients of a certain sort."

Hardy guffawed and slapped his knee.  Mark couldn't tell if he was egging Abbie on to poke fun at her, or if he sincerely thought it was funny.  Savannah blushed a deeper shade of red.

Abbie quickly curtseyed again, "Present company excluded of course, Savannah," she corrected, realizing the inadvertent offense.  "You are not dressed like that at all."  Now, it was Abbie's turn to blush.

"Don't worry about it," Savannah replied.

This clash of cultures would be full of unperceived mines which could go off at any moment.  They would have to navigate carefully for a while.

"So, what's the plan, boss?" Ty asked.

Mark leaned forward.  "I thought we'd give Abbie a couple of weeks with Savannah to get used to things and settle in. In the meantime, we'll go about our normal business, doing saves as usual wherever we feel led, though I think you should lay off Vietnam for a time, Ty."

Ty nodded.

"Then," Mark continued, "we'll take Abbie back with us to medieval England to rescue that boy.  She's an excellent shot with a bow and might be of help culturally too."

They all agreed, and Savannah led Abbie out of the common room into the hall.  Ty headed off to the bathroom, but Hardy remained behind.

"Mark, do you really think that's a good idea bringing her with us on a shift?"

"Why not?"

"She doesn't have a watch.  We'll always have to be looking out for her.  She'll be completely dependent on us if something goes wrong."

"Isn't that what we do anyway — look out for people?  She'll be extra help."

"I don't see the sense in it."

"I've got a feeling about it, okay?"

"All right, whatever you say."

***

There was visible fear in Abbie's eyes as she boarded the corporate jet for London.  Mark admired her strength, for in spite of the horror she felt at being forced to trust a mechanical bird to transport her safely across the Atlantic Ocean, she bolstered herself and mustered up the courage to get on anyway.

It was hard for her to relax, but after an hour into the flight, her desperate grip on the hand rests lightened.  Still, a twinge of anxiety lingered as Mark went over their Middle English study notes.

Remembering how unintelligible most of the speech had been during their last visit to medieval England, Mark had asked Savannah for help.  She'd hooked him up with a professor at Harvard who was an expert on Middle English.